


All The Time In The World

by pikasafire



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hannibal escapes, he fulfills a promise to Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Time In The World

**Author's Note:**

> Post-capture and escape. A companion piece to the capture fic '[Nothing But Time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/807712)'. It would make more sense to read that first, but I think this stands alone. For Cthonical; she asked for a sequel and I obliged. Because I’m easy like that. Awesome thanks to Scarimonious again for the beta!

*

When Will’s phone rings at 3am, he knows before he answers that it’s not going to be anything good. What he isn’t expecting is Jack’s voice, furious and snappish, “Lecter’s escaped. Get your ass down here. You're un-retired.”

It's all his nightmares and some of his dreams come true and it's the start of three weeks of sleepless nights, panic attacks and meltdowns, until the trail goes cold. They knew it would.

Will’s not entirely sure what to think, left sweating through nightmares, until a knock on the door startles him a few weeks later.

Will frowns up at the clock on the wall. 7.30pm. It’s getting a bit late for a random social call.

"Hello?" He asks as he opens the door.

"Good evening, Will." Hannibal says, standing on Will's porch, calm and relaxed. Will backs away, watching warily as Hannibal steps inside, closes the door behind him and removes his coat, folding it gently over the back of a chair. "It's good to see you."

"What are you doing here?" Will asks, voice unsteady, eyes darting quickly for something, _anything_ to use as a weapon.

Hannibal smiles at him, "I told you I'd see you again, did I not? How have you been?" He eyes Will critically. "You look well."

Given a few seconds reprieve, Will stares. It's not the Hannibal he remembers from two years ago, incarceration making him even thinner, more angular. The suit he's wearing is tailored, but lacking the pocket square; the ornate decoration. He's suffered. Will isn't sorry. "Can't say the same about you."

"I will recover." Hannibal says, sounding pleased that Will noticed.

“I saw what you did to the nurse.” Will says, careful to keep a safe distance between them. He wishes his dogs were inside. “And the orderly.”

“They were very rude to me.” Hannibal says, like this excuses his actions. “Did you take my letters to the FBI? I wrote you quite a few times.”

There’s no real point lying. Hannibal can always tell. “No.” 

“I haven’t seen you in two years.” Hannibal says. “And you never wrote back. That’s very rude, Will.”

The icy clench of fear in his stomach. “Are you here to kill me?”

Hannibal shakes his head, like he’s disappointed. “I told you last time I saw you. Your death holds no interest for me.”

“ _Why_?”

“I consider you a friend." Like it's obvious.

Harsh and vehement, “We are _not_ friends."

Hannibal makes a little noise of disagreement, but says nothing more on the matter, clasping his hands behind his back and looking around Will's living room with interest. "You've been renovating."

"Not much else to do with my time these days. I retired." Will says, carefully guarded, the ' _after you_ ' unspoken. Will's not going to lie and say he'd never thought of Hannibal turning up at his door, but this isn't going how he imagined.

Silence as Hannibal fulfills his curiosity. “Are you going to to tell Jack that I visited?” He asks, turning his attention back to Will.

“I have to.” Will says, can feel his heart race as Hannibal takes a step forward. Will takes one back. _Hunted_. “You know I do.”

Hannibal looks at him, quiet for a moment. “But you’re not going to.” Confident. Assured.

“No.” Quiet and a little bit broken, because they both know he won’t.

"I'll see you next week then," Hannibal says. "Good evening, Will."

*

Will doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell the FBI. It sits on the tip of his tongue for the next week, ready to blurt out at any moment. _Hannibal Lecter came to visit. No, no threats. Just a cordial chat -- like old times_. Will can just imagine how well it’d go over, but he can’t _not_ say anything.

But he doesn’t. The days pass, the urge to tell lessens. It happened days ago now, it’s irrelevant - Hannibal’s probably sipping expensive wine in France by now.

Will knows he isn’t. Hannibal Lecter does not miss appointments.

“It’s dangerous for you to be here.” Is the first thing Will says when Hannibal knocks on his door at 7.30pm, exactly a week after his last visit. “Everyone’s looking for you.”

"I know."

It's a different tone to last week. Will's guarded, a careful distance between them, a gun on his hip, but it's lacking some of the venom. "So why risk it?"

"Do you remember our last meeting? At the hospital?"

Will flushes, avoids the question, “Why are you here?”

It doesn't matter; the endgame is the same. “For you.”

Will’s startled enough that he looks up, meeting Hannibal’s eyes for the first time in two years. “I- me? For me to do what?”

“Come with me.” Hannibal says, like it's obvious.

Will laughs, startled. “I can’t- what do you mean 'come with you'. _Where?_.”

“Anywhere you’d like.”

It’s madness. “I have dogs and a job and a _life_ here. I can’t just leave.” 

“Then neither can I.”

"I don't care if you get caught again." Will says.

Hannibal just smiles like Will's told some wonderful joke. They both know he's lying.

*

Hannibal’s picked the lock. Or Will forgot to lock the house when he left: both are possible. Will can hear the sounds of cooking, the smells of honey and soy permeating the house.

It's automatic to draw his now ever-present gun, even though Will knows there's only one person it can be. At 7.30pm, precisely a week after the last visit.

Hannibal stands by the stove, what seems like the entire meagre pickings of Will’s kitchen spread over the counter tops.

“What are you doing?” Will demands, holstering his gun. The thought that he's putting it away when there's a vicious serial murderer and cannibal _cooking in his house_ is too strange to consider, so he pushes it out of his head, approaching the stove warily.

Silence as Hannibal flips something in the pan. “Cooking.”

Will’s not entirely sure what to say to that. “I’m vegetarian these days.” He allows enough bite into his voice that Hannibal looks up, amused.

“That’s a pity.” He says, smiling enough to show his teeth, “I've missed cooking for you.” He turns his attention back to the pan, “Luckily, I’ve cooked vegetarian.” It's not funny but Hannibal looks delighted and for some reason Will can't fathom, he follows the instructions to set the table.

He’s sitting across from a man whose body count is in the double digits, that they _know of_ , calmly eating stir fry. Will had carefully ensured he could identify everything in the dish, even as Hannibal sat across from him, radiating disapproval. Will’s not entirely sure what to do about this. It's the closest they've been in proximity in two years. _Since that kiss._

"Why are you here?" It doesn't have the same heat as the first day, a kind of weary resignation in his tone.

“Come with me.” Hannibal says.

Will was expecting that. “Why should I?”

“Because I want you to.”

Will laughs, bitter, “Well, you don’t always get what you want.”

Hannibal’s grin is shark-like. “But, I do.”

*

"Repeatedly breaking into someone's house is rude." Will points out the following week, pulling his satchel over his head and placing it carefully on the couch.

Hannibal's settled on one of the couches, a book in hand and he closes with a snap. “Good evening, Will.” He says, ignoring Will’s complaint. “It’s polite to call when you’re going to be late.”

Will raises an eyebrow, bites back the ridiculous automatic apology on his tongue and remains silent, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, he heads over to his desk, examining his fly-tying gear, a work in progress still clutched in the vise. “You’ve touched this.” He looks at it a little closer. The flash has been added, reading for cementing and he releases it from the vise, checking the work. “Not bad.”

“Steady hands.” Hannibal says, by way of explanation. “You don’t follow a pattern in your work.”

“Sometimes.” Will shrugs, defences raised. “You’re not psychoanalysing me, Dr. Lecter.” He puts down the hook carefully, with an annoyed huff. He’s not going to get anything done as long as Hannibal is here. "Why are you here?" It's becoming a mantra, searching for a secondary explanation.

"I tire of repeating myself." Hannibal says.

"I'm waiting for an answer that makes sense," Will snaps. "You spent two years cultivating my friendship, during which you murder _twelve people_ that we know of, and _feed_ the victims to the FBI. I'm sorry if I'm a little confused." He moves across the room, quick, angry movements, keeping his eyes carefully downcast as he pulls a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard. He should’ve called the FBI when Hannibal first appeared on his doorstep; now, in his space, in his head, he’s bringing up all those feelings Will thought he’d long buried.

Hannibal seems unaffected by Will’s anger. “Confusion is completely normal. But it’s been three weeks. I would have thought you would understand.” _Empathise_ , the unspoken word.

“I don’t-” It takes him off guard, “I don’t do that anymore. As much as I can avoid it.”

For a second, Hannibal looks genuinely surprised. “Why did you stop?”

“Because of you.” He means for it to be harsh and bitter, not the betrayed, upset tone that comes out and he turns his back to hide his face, listening to the noise of Hannibal standing, moving so he’s standing behind Will, only a few feet away. It takes every ounce of control Will has to stay where he is and he breathes deeply, can almost make out that spicy scent that he’s missed so much. He’s not sure if he wants to run, or turn into it.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal says and Will turns, eyes down, and tries to brush past him. A hand on his arm stops him, and Will jumps, looking up at Hannibal’s face in startlement. It’s the first time Hannibal’s touched him.

“I don’t believe you.” Will spits, but can’t hide the way he leans into the touch.

*

There's something different this time. Will can’t quite put his finger on it. 

"I bought us dinner." Hannibal says, holding up two insulated bags.

"You have a kitchen again." Will observes, stepping aside to let him in and watching Hannibal unpack a multitude of containers on to the kitchen table. "It's a dumb move to stay in Baltimore."

Hannibal inclines his head in agreement. “I will be leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Will’s surprised how much that hurts. “Good.” He rubs his hands on his jeans, feeling absurdly nervous. “Uh. Where?”

If Hannibal notices Will’s fidgeting, he doesn’t show it. “Plates, Will.” A pause. “Venice perhaps. Or Florence.”

“Italy?”

“I’ve always loved Italy,” Hannibal says, looking up at Will with a smile. “Ever since I visited when was a young man.” He takes the offered plates, gesturing for Will to take a seat as he serves the food. “Have you ever been?”

Will can’t help the apprehension that seeps into his blood, the anticipation that joins it. “No. I’m, uh, not very good. On planes.” Waving a vague hand, “Or travelling.” He laughs, self-deprecating. “Or people, really. Never been out of the country.”

Hannibal says nothing to that, simply places a plate in front of him, taking a seat and picking up his cutlery. “Eat, Will.” he says, watching expectantly.

For the first time, Will looks down at what’s been served, and for a moment, he thinks he’s going to vomit. “Liver?” Hannibal remains silent, eyes focused on Will’s face and Will can’t stop himself from meeting his eyes. “You killed again.”

“Travel agents can be very rude,” Hannibal says mildly.

Horror fills him and he stands, heart racing, frozen, unsure of what to do.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at his behaviour. “You have always enjoyed my cooking, Will. This is no different.”

“This is _people_.” Will says, voice strangled.

“It makes no difference.” Hannibal says, watching him carefully. “Come, Will. Sit and eat.” Gentle reprimand and Will sits, swallows down the lump in his throat. He's sick of the nightmares, of the struggle to deal with what happened, to deal with his complicated feelings about a man who's killed more people than Will knows and yet, for some reason, he loves anyway.

Two years getting to know Hannibal Lecter. Will spent a year of that immersed twenty four hours a day trying to know the Chesapeake Ripper. Two years after that spent trying to understand the motives behind the crimes. Will knows both of them like he knows himself and no amount of alcohol or drugs can get it out of his system.

He's sick of fighting them.

He takes a bite.

Hannibal's smile is predatory and when he steps around the table, Will stays where he is, trembling a little in his skin, heart racing.

"I've waited a very long time." Hannibal says, chiding tone and when he reaches out, it takes everything in Will's power not to flinch. "You're making progress." Hannibal says, approval clear as he cups Will's cheek. "Do you remember our last meeting, at the hospital?"

"Yes." He can guess what's coming, fear and adrenaline and anticipation a cocktail drug through his veins. He knows what those hands have done, he wants them on his skin anyway. "I'm not your patient anymore. I don’t rely on you."

Hannibal smiles, tugging Will out of his chair and pulling him closer, until he can feel the heat of his body. Will's shaking, eyes defiantly open, watching Hannibal with a mixture of fear and want.

The kiss isn't as gentle as Will was expecting, teeth, hot mouth claiming his own, hard and wet. Will can’t help the way his fingers curl into Hannibal’s waistcoat, clinging desperately.

"Come with me." It's the last time Hannibal will ask, Will knows it as surely as he knows that a 'no' will be a death sentence.

"Yes."

*

END


End file.
